he digs and sleeps
and barks, restlessly,
loudest, oddly,
on day three
humbly,
he jumps over tomatoes
and grape seeds,
not yet for picking,
but one day...
he scales the strawberry patch,
is his favorite place,
so much so that I won't
pick the darn things,
in case
he decides to surprise
me
in the pond, he swims
and jumps, gliding through
warm
green
water,
kibitzing with friends
he's avoided the falcon,
the hawk,
the raccoon family,
and our dogs
who hear him,
like us,
at two a.m.
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